Adventure's Beginning
by DM2
Summary: When six mercenaries meet at a tavern to begin a dangerous journey, they bring their pasts with them. Rated T for adult themes.


Adventure's Beginning  
by David Mitchell  
  
Killian had entered when his mother called, but he wasn't prepared to see her in armor. Nor did he anticipate that she'd meet him with a stoic gaze intead of a warm smile. Though Katrin was a powerfully built woman, she had always seemed tender to him. Now her long hair was tied taught around her head, her apple bosum was flattened against her chest by a leather breastplate and shoulder guards, and the thighs that had once been the lap her children had sat upon were secured by hardened greaves. In her left arm she held a circular wooden shield adorned with a spike in the center and slung across her back was a wicked batle axe.  
Katrin made no eye contact with her bewildered son as she finished securing her shield. Instead, she spread a quilted bundle across the floor, revealing a short sword and a small silk bag. Handing Killian the sword, she said:  
"Take this. Only use it as a last resort. I don't expect visitors, but if you see anyone take your sisters and hide in the cellar."  
Katrin then handed him the silk bag.  
"Here's the last of our gold. Do not spend it unless you must."  
"You goin' to meet Owen at Aramad, mum?"  
"Yes, I'll be seeing Owen there, if I'm lucky."  
Killian was a tall boy, even if only ten years old, though his uncertainty all but betrayed his age. As Katrin brushed back a mop of red hair from his face, her two younger daughters, Morgan and Sharel, aged six and four.  
"When will you be back, mum?" asked Morgan.  
"Morgan, honey, I don't know."  
"Will we get to live somewhere else when you get back?"  
"Yes." Katrin said whistfully as she knelt to meet her at eye level, "Yes, when I return we'll live in a better house, you'll never see this cottage again, and we'll have less worries, all of us."  
Tears began to fill little Sharel's eyes.  
"Y-you're going to go? Why?"  
"I have to, sweety. I have no choice."  
Katrin hugged her daughter, but not so tight as to crush her against the armor.  
"...but I will return. I promise."  
Katrin stood once more.  
"Watch over your sisters, Killian. I mean it."  
The boy nodded again, tying the scabbard of his new sword to his rope belt. Katrin smiled with assurance and held her gaze over her family, holding that smile as she backed away from the threshold of the stone hut as her children waved. As she turned and made her way down the narrow path of waist-high grass, she began to cry.  
"Momma!" cried Sharel's shrill voice.  
Katrin shook her head and turned to see Sharels runing toward her, tears streaming from her eyes as well.  
"Sharel, baby, you can't come with me..."  
Katrin knelt, lifted Sharel of the gorund and held her tightly. The two of them turned as their tears mingled, and that moment somehow seemed like an eternity that still died. Katrin lowered her to the ground once more as she completed the circle.  
"...You don't want to come with me. Stay with your brother where it's safe."  
Sharel continued to cry as Killian ran up the path to escrot her back home, and Katrin continued to back away, this time her tears staining her visage as she faced her family.  
"I will return." she said, "I promise you all. Sharel, don't cry."  
Katrin turned and headed down the long toward Aramad.  
  
Dedrick was a tall and lanky man with large hands and feet. He had always been one uncomfortable with his own form, and to conceal it better he was given to wearing long dark cloaks with hoods while he would walk quickly with a stooping posture. Of course, this would make him look even more conspicuous than he'd hoped, but his essential nature in appearing soft-spoken humorless and uninvolved, cast a longer shadow than any he could conceal himself and his cloak in.  
His life was one of comfortable solitude and anonymity, but one morning he awoke in discomfort at the knowledge that had brought company to this inn the night before. It was an ambiguous and awkward feeling, for now that he had a companion he was required to think about the saftey and comfort of his friend as well as his own. It was more trouble than it was worth, he thought, but he did not wish for solitude again. As Dedrick fastened his baldric in place, he heard a knock at the door.  
"Just a moment..." he said.  
As he reached for his quiver, Dedrick answered the door. On the other side was a somewhat diminutive and stocky woman dressed in a cotton plaid skirt pleated where it joined her bodice. Above she wore a rayon blouse that fitted off her shoulders. Her skin was a deep olive and her hair was firey red. Her features were also ruggid; her forhead sloped somewhat, her nose was upturned, and her prominent teeth sometimes jutted from her mouth. Even her eyes bore the faintest suggestion of red. Upon looking up at Dedrick, she smiled a sweet and toothy grin.  
"Come on in, Hrefna." he said again.  
Smiling, the half-orc stepped through the threshold and sat in a nearby chair while Dedrick nervously scanned out the window.  
"I'm excited." she said, "I've never gone on one of these before"  
"Hrefna, shut the door." Dedrick said as he glanced back.  
"Oh-- I'm sorry."  
Hrefna reached out, shut the door, and continued speaking while Dedrick secured his quiver around his belt. He nervously scanned the streets outside for any sign of the police. There was no one in sight, but he could not be certain.  
"What do you think that Pac'rette woman wants us to do? I hope this will pay better. That way, we, I mean you, can become rich and--"  
"Get me my coat, Hrefna."  
"Oh-- yes...um, here it is..." she said, removing a dark cloak and hood from a nearby wall hook.  
"Thank you. Now remember." Dedrick said as he fastened his hood in place, "When we meet Lady Pac'rette and any of her other mercenaries, my name is Meynard Dexton, and I'm among the elite infantry of Red Rock island. Just remain quiet and let me do the talking, I don't want anything to go badly while we're working for her."  
"Infantry, huh?" chuckled Hrefna, "Were's your uniform?"  
"Red Rock is a relatively new outpost on a frontier island." he said, "I don't think enough people have been there to know the difference."  
"What do I get to be?" Hrefna asked with a grin.  
"You'll be...my apprentice or something. Leave everything to me."  
"Can't I be your wife instead?"  
"No, that wouldn't convince anyone."  
"Hmph."  
Dedrick grabbed his belt bouch as Hrefna tied a scabbard to her own belt, and then sheathed a short short into it. After making sure they had everything, Dedrick cautiously glanced in either direction of the hallway, and locked the door behind them. The two quickly made their way down the stairs of the inn and into the open streets of Aramad.  
He looked back at the inn once more, and to the streets to make sure no one was following him. It was in a similar inn, albeit hundreds of miles across the ocean, that he first met Hrefna. As a despised racial minority with no home, she was a cheap strumpet attempting to make a pathetic living in the slums of Bataavia. By coincidence, he had spent the night next to a room she shared with a client. Also by coincidence he broke down the door and saved her from a brutal beating when the noise disturbed his sleep. Out of pity he allowed her to join his vagrancy, out of pity he went to bed with her, and out of pity he trained her as a rogue, with moderate success.  
  
Dedrick worried that Hrefna would stick out like a sore thumb. He worried she would cut herself with her sword. He worried that her ignorance and inexperience would hinder him or get her killed. It angered him. And as much as he almost wanted to get rid of her he could not. He didn't think he loved her, nor did he particularly like her, but there was something oddly reassuring about her dependance. Never before had he felt so needed, by anyone. That was a feeling Dedrick did not wish to loose.  
Hrefna leaned closely into Dedrick's shoulder as he approached the tavern. His long navy blue cloak was now wrapped around her and served as a cloak for the two of them. His baldric and quiver both poked her from underneath the cloak, but she seemed to prefer being there anyway. He quickly glanced behind once more to make sure no one was following him. After another long look, he entered the tavern.  
It was a dimly-lit, low ceilinged place with few customers. The few people present mostly kept to themselves, huddled together in dark corners while glancing suspisciously at passing customers. Almost as soon as Dedrick had entered, he met the woman who had hired him, and she had spotted him so quickly he was startled.  
Lady Pac'rette was an attractive noblewoman who walked with an absurd and insouciant saunter. Approaching from the darkness, she smiled and waved in her usual demeanor of alacrity, wearing an expensive skin-tight gown of black silk and ermine which revealed more skin than an expensive whore. Around her neck and wrists she carried enough exorbitant jewelry for ten people to wear, and she had at least one ring for each finger. Her hair, pulled back by a golden circlet, was a flawless shiny black and her skin was similarly impeccable, as if she'd never stepped outside in her life.  
"Meynard!" she cheerfully exclaimed, "How wonderful it is that you could make it here on time! We're all waiting for you. Just have a seat. I think one more person has yet to arrive, and I have a transaction to take care of upstairs, so please-- make yourself at home!"  
"Thank you." Dedrick said dispasionately, as Hrefna stepped out from under his cloak.  
"Um-- this is my apprentice."  
"She has a name." Pac'rette smiled, "Tell it to me."  
"I'm Hrefna." the half-orc replied, "Pleased to meet you."  
Then she quickly added as she indicated the cloak:  
"It was raining outside all morning."  
"Yes, well, do make yourselves comfortable, don't keep me holding you up."  
Dedrick nodded as Hrefna advanced toward the fireplace and sat in one of the lounge seats.  
"You're uh... from Thyatyra, are you?"  
"Yes." Lady Pac'rette chuckled, "We in the upper class are practicing wizards. I myself am an expert in the art of illusion."  
"I see. What brings you up north then? I don't hide it, I need the money, but why are you interested in the trouble of Aramad?"  
"There's more to life than material comforts, Meynard. The Council has a duty to help the underpriveldged lands that are less illuminated by our knowledge and resources. These crisises, however insignificant, are always our concern. I was assigned to investigate this problem, and I will need hirelings such as yourself."  
"You the only wizard?"  
"No, I'm not. My area of expertise sadly excludes some of the other schools of magic, most notably necromancy. I've hired another wizard, Caramip, to assist us just in case. Well, I won't be gone long, make yourself at home."  
Dedrick nodded. Pac'rette smiled again and patted his cheek. Then she turned and headed upstairs. Hrefna was already quaffing a mug she had brought from the tavern bar, but sitting near her were two other people whom Dedrick assumed were the mercenaries. He appraoched the fireplace and took a seat.  
One man sitting across from him was much older, perhaps old enough to be Dedrick's father. His hair was long and greasy and he had a grizzled two- week beard. He wore no armor, and instead only sported beer-stained white tunic over red leggings. At his side a bastard sword was sheathed, similar to the blade Dedrick carried, but with a much longer hilt.  
Next to him sat a smaller and unimpressive creature, perhaps four feet tall, to which Dedrick could barely believe his eyes. This creature had long and bandy limbs, and flattened face that was incredibly ugly. His bald head sported a pair of mauve glazed eyes and a broad mouth filled crooked, small fangs. Two shapeless ears swept from either side of his skull and only seemed to compliment his bizarre lemon yellow complexion. He wore a muddy brown robe and a belt pouch filled with scrolls and loose quills.  
The two seemed to be arguing over something when Dedrick spoke:  
"You...you're Caramip?"  
"See?" the goblin said in a harsh, chittery voice, "I'm already a celebrity in this town."  
"Only because society's moral decay has allowed you to be, goblin." answered the older warrior, "Were times what they used to be, you would have been careful scrutinized and driven out for your arrogance."  
"Unlike a Paladin turned mercenary? And arrogant? Pot, meet Mr. Kettle. And what about this moral decay you speak of? By being here I offend your morals?"  
"No," said the man, "but the contagious and lax attitudes of our corrupt secular guvernors allows creatures like you to find places here in our world and overrun it with your lack of morals. Never would you have lasted long in this town with your disrespectful attitude if the church of Paradeur still guarded these places instead of our governer's agents. And as for my status as a mercenary, that is something which you are in no position to judge."  
"Yet you consider yourself in a position to judge me? Is it the chruch of Paradeur which gives you a sense of righteousness?"  
"If the common man is too afraid to think for himself, then yes, I shall cast judgement on you."  
"You say people don't think for themselves here on the surface?" the goblin said, "I've witnessed first hand the horrors of conformity, my friend. When I was underground, I served as a tunnelrat for my contingent. I was completely expendable. My job consisted of baiting the tunnels to make sure they wouldn't collapse. And if they did, one puny goblin didn't matter to the hundreds that served the chieftan and the dark god Maglubiyet without question. To do otherwise meant immediate death. It was dumb luck that I survived a tunnel collapse and found semi-tolerant gnomish stronghold through which I could recieve magical education and become something more than an expendable pion. It was through education which I acquired the curiosity to learn your tongue and pursue knoweldge, and it was through the freedom of the surface world-- through the open-mindedness which you scorn-- that I had the opportunity to become who I am today."  
  
"Whoa, you're the mage?" Dedrick said awkwardly, "I heard goblins were too stupid to learn magic."  
"I heard that too." said the goblin, "My name is Caramip, and my job is to argue with intolerant former paladins."  
"Yes, let us shelve our usual bickering and greet a new friend." the man said, "I'm Owen. I've already met your friend, but your name is...?"  
"Meynard. Meynard Dexton." Dedrick said, "I'm from Red Rock island. Elite Infantry."  
"Ah, Red Rock!" said Owen, "How is Dayhawk? What is he currently up to?"  
"Uh..."  
"Dayhawk, the ranger lord, founder of your army and your country. Surely you know who I speak of."  
"Oh, of course I do. He's pretty busy, so I don't see him often. I'm not even sure what he was doing last."  
"Ah, as he always is." Owen said with a smile, "I see you are without a halberd. Have they changed their policies? I thought all of the elite infantry used halberds."  
"Not all of us." Dedrick said, "Some of us are trained scouts instead."  
"You are a ranger then?"  
"In a manner of speaking. I'm not an offical ranger. I'm an apprentice, you see."  
"Really. Hrefna here told me she was your apprentice. Am I mistaken?"  
"Well, she..."  
"Actually, I'm his wife." Hrefna said.  
"Um, yes." said Dedrick, "I train her unofficially, so..."  
"We train together." Hrefna added with a smile.  
"Ah, well met." Owen nodded, "I can see why you would be careful about revealing that, but do not worry, we harbor few prejudices."  
"Except against goblins." Caramip added.  
"Of course it's called prejudice now." chuckled Owen, "This is why I dislike the new government. What sort of country are we turning into if you can only despise someone if he happens to be human?"  
Dedrick nervously looked at the doorway again for no reason, only this time he was startled by the sight of a warrior woman dressed in studded leather. Her skin was a deep tan, her face soft and beautiful, and her bearing weary. In her left hand she held a spiked shield, and frogged in the baldric across her back was a large bearded axe. She was approaching the party.  
"Owen!", she said, "I've made it. Where's the good lady?"  
"Ah, Katrin!" said the paladin, "What a relief. Pac'rette is, I believe, attending to personal needs. May I have a word with you, my lady?"  
"Yes, of course."  
  
"My lady," Owen began as the two stepped outside the tavern, "Please understand, before we embark on this task, that had I known I would have done all that I could to save your husband's life. I feel as if I'm your debt now, and if you wish to remain behind, I'll return with most of whatever I'm paid on your behalf. It's a hollow offer, I know, but-- "  
"I don't need anything from you, Owen." Katrin said, "When I lived in a highland village in Vania we fought back orcs and ogres and survived unscratched. What I need right now is money. You don't understand what it's been like without Graham."  
"I think I understand too well unfortuantely..."  
"Before we were settled and I was well-recieved. I was the wife of a hero. Now I'm a barbarian from the north that all of Aramad has forgotten. I don't want to return to Vania just yet. Not with a three children to raise."  
Katrin wiped condensing tears away from her eyes.  
"Aye," Owen nodded, "And that is why I think it best for you to remain."  
"I can't."  
"Then at least allow me to do one thing, my lady. Allow me to swear my loyalty to your cause. Should anything happen to you, I will see to it that your children survive and are cared for."  
"Don't be ridiculous."  
"Please, my lady." Owen said, his voice tense, "It would mean much to me. When we fought the terrible war against Perteriance, I made a horrible, stupid, selfish mistake, which I will not make again. I cost Graham his life."  
"Please don't...."  
"I've lost my knighthood, my lady. Perhaps that is of no consequence. Times are changing. You speak of the country having lost respect for you. I've experienced that too. Not long after the revolution of Aramad, the Church of Paradeur was overthrown and replaced with a capitalist enclave, and we found ourselves fighting a useless war. When I returned home I was not welcomed. I was not only a fallen paladin, but a knight of an order our society no longer has no use for. I do miss the good old days when our only worries were protecting the country from orcs and dragons. But we've slain them all. Now our enemy is the corrupt politics and the cultural pollution they invite."  
"Owen, don't...."  
"The sun sets on my era, Katrin. I've nothing left to offer except my word. And my sword."  
Katrin fought back tears and nodded.  
"All right, then. Swear it."  
Owen drew his sword and knelt in front of Katrin.  
"I swear. I swear on the blood of all the fallen, on all that remains good and righteous in the world, in the heavens, and in Paradeur himself that I shall defend your cause, my lady, with every ounce of my life."  
  
Corbin Andyr closed the door of the tavern's top floor quickly behind him.  
"What took you so long, my love? Has all gone well?" asked a noblewoman reclining in her couch.  
Corbin smiled.  
"Yes, yes it has, Fiona. I'm still waiting for one other person to show up, but so far we have everyone, and they seem cooperative."  
"I answered your summons," Fiona said, "but why now?"  
Corbin sighed.  
"I had little time, Fiona. I'm not sure how long this investigation will take, but I've more than prepared by hiring these five mercenaries."  
"And when you get back we'll be married as you promised?"  
"Yes, Fiona, we will." Corbin said uneasily, "But I feel there's something you should know first."  
Fiona's gaze was silent and steady. Corbin looked like he was about to speak, but he only sighed and laughed nervously instead.  
"Sometimes, I... Well, let me show you."  
With a quick and painfully complex series of gestures, the image of Corbin Andyr blurred into that of Lady Pac'rette, the flawless and powerfully attractive soreceress. She smiled and batted her eyelashed, gesturing to indicate herself.  
"This," she said speaking with Corbin's voice, "Is Lady Pac'rette."  
"Lady what? Who's that?"  
"She's my alter-ego." Corbin said, though this time Lady Pac'rette faded and there he stood, still assuming his ridiculous pose. Clearing his voice, he spoke again:  
"Sometimes you see, I... feel more comfortable as a woman than I do as a man..."  
Fiona gasped. Her face nearly bleached as if by spell.  
"Corbin! D-Does this mean....??"  
"No! No, not at all, Fiona. I'm still very much a man. I'm an illusionst and not a transmuter. I still love you, and will still marry you. This is just something I do every now and then...."  
"But....but....why?!"  
"Why not? It's so boring being myself all the time. She's brought out the best in me. I feel more alive when I'm Lady Pac'rette."  
Fiona scratched her head, trying to make sense of this revelation.  
  
"You shouldn't have to...to... Why can't you just be yourself? You're fine the way you are."  
"Oh, I'm happy with myself, Fiona. I'm happy to be a member of the Thyatyra counsel of wizards, and I'm happy to be with you. Shouldn't I be entitled to have a little fun?"  
"So this...Pac'rette woman. Is she your fantasy or something...?"  
"Eh...."  
Corbin hesitated.  
"No, but if she were, there'd be no need to feel jealousy." Corbin chuckled.  
"But...isn't this impractical? What if your friends find out that you've lied to them?"  
"They won't." Corbin said with a smile, "I'm always careful with how I arrange my spells. And I'm not lying to them. I'm just revealing myself in a different way."  
"But...but..."  
Fiona wrinkled her brow.  
"I knew you'd understand, dear."  
Corbin leaned in close and kissed his fiance on the forehead.  
  
Lady Pac'rette faced her party of mercenaries with a perky and enthusiastic smile.  
"Well, are we all ready?" she saked.  
Meynard nodded after he turned around to make sure no one was watching him. Owen and Katrin looked attentive. Hrefna smiled in ackowlegement. Caramip looked on with his usual scowl.  
"If we are, then let us be off! We have a long quest ahead of us. I know not what awaits, but this is no issue we can afford to overlook. It may not seem like much, but all of Aramad could be at stake. Even more than that. Furthermore we could die at any moment, so we must watch ourselves as we journey into the unknown."  
"And that's what's supposed to make the life of an adventurer funny, sad, and horrifying, all at once?" Caramip grumbled.  
"On that, my friend, I would agree." said Owen.  
Gathering their packs and provisions, the party left the tavern throught he back door, following the Thyatyran sorceress. She was leading them down a heavily wooded path toward the southeast. 


End file.
